


A Sunday Kinda Love

by waltermitty



Series: Natasha, Bucky, and Clint Smooch Fest [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, M/M, Multi, Natasha Romanov Is Not A Robot, Not Canon Compliant, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), SO SORRY, Sad, i took liberties here to make this somehow incredibly sadder, post snap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-13
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2020-01-12 14:55:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18448892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waltermitty/pseuds/waltermitty
Summary: Infinity War and its losses beyond the snap.





	A Sunday Kinda Love

**Author's Note:**

> I am so sorry! wow. This is hella sad. Even for me. Infinity war as told by Natasha. Following the love affair of one James Buchanan Barnes, Clint Barton, and Natasha Romanov.  
> theres explicit sex halfway thru, its a threesome.

Clint was supposed to be at home, waiting out the war. She’d begged, pleaded, just stay, stay where it's safe. He had a perfect excuse, he was still technically under house arrest. James had told Clint before going with her to stay home as well. Natasha hated them at this moment. She’d turned her back for literally five minutes, turning around to the soundtracks of James and Clint’s twin whoops.

She watched the two men she loved- the men she had spent countless nights sandwiched between in their too big bed, listening to them snore like freight trains. She’d spent months on the road, dodging government officials and Tony Stark. Steve had led their vagabond group, Natasha and James desperate to find Clint, to make their family whole again. Steve had promised that he’d get him off of the floating prison himself if he had too, but that Natasha and James needed to stay far away.

After months in crappy hotels and empty safehouses, James and Natasha rumbled up the gravel drive, tires crunching tiredly over the rolling expanse. The sun was rising as they arrived, stumbling out of the car, leaning on one another as they limped into the house. It was empty, months of vacancy leaving the counters dusty, the doors creaking on their hinges. They barely make it to the couch, flopping onto the cushions, passing out with the relief of the warm summer air floating through the rusty old farmhouse. Natasha doesn’t know what time it is when they awake, the power having been off for quite some time. James wanders to the power breaker, his mumbled assurance that he could fix it being enough faith for her. She walks to the car, a yellow jeep she stole back in L.A., unpacks their bags when the house rumbles to life. James saunters around the back, dumb grin plastered to his face, whistling as they sweep up, make the beds in the guest room and in their master suite. Natasha offers to run to the store for food, they’re both hungry, James’s super soldier metabolism burning everything he’d eaten as fast as he could consume it. He declines, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her back onto the couch. They lay, trading memories in the shared language of their past, every so often shifting to kiss, brushing one another's hair, the strands of James’s dark brown locks glimmering in the fading sunlight.

Eventually, the hunger wins out over their domestic bliss, Natasha suggesting the diner about a mile out from the house. James nods his assent, climbing in the Jeep, hair tumbling around his shoulders, that same dumb smile painted on his handsome face. She admires him from the porch, pretending to look for her hat, a big floppy pink hat with a brim that covers her face almost entirely. Clint bought it for her, he was on an op in Hawaii of all places, the tropical breeze getting to his head apparently. He’d brought it home to her, one night in the dead of winter, Natasha had been cooking an old Russian stew, the snow piling up outside. James was sprawled across his easy chair, a ratty old thing he had picked up from Goodwill. He’d told them it smelled like home, home before the war, before the ice. It clashed deeply with her theme, all reds, and browns, hints of pale mustard littering their living room. The couch was a patchwork of flannel patterns and worn down greys and blues, and it creaked when he reclined. Natasha would never tell him she hated it. James is sprawled across the Jeep now, laying on the horn like a madman. She laughs, waves a hand at him in mock annoyance, and grabs her hat from the porch swing where she always keeps it. Natasha would have pistol whipped someone silly, had they told her she would be wearing a sundress and a floppy pink hat, driving a bright yellow jeep, with James Buchanan Barnes, the man who taught her everything she knew, who she presumed dead, sitting next to her, metal hand gripping her thigh, laughing along to some Disney song as they rolled down a dirt road to a diner.

Apple pie was always her favorite, James settling on chicken fried steak, a cheeseburger, and a side of cheesy fries. It used to break her heart, watching him struggle to keep water down, months of cryofreeze and tube feedings making him forget what food could taste like. Clint used to hold his hair back, curl up around his back like some large cat, rubbing circles into his back as he shook, his powerful body exhausted with the effort of survival. He smiled at her now, red lips shiny as he poked his tongue out, a good amount of scruff having formed, enveloping his strong jaw. He’d tied his hair back in a simple bun, Natasha leaving hers down, bleach blonde locks tickling her ears.

“I love you, Natasha”

The words still felt foreign, as if someone was going to come from behind her, take them right from his mouth.

“As I love you, James”

She replies, tears pricking at her eyes, sparkling green as she soaks all of this in. Call it a cliche, call it an occupational hazard, but Natasha can’t rid the feeling of impending doom. She shakes it off as leftover paranoia, guilt from leaving her teammates.

They enjoy their meal, swapping bites until the sun has set and the moon has risen, glimmering over them as they rattle back home. The door is ajar when they return, James immediately slipping into a crouch, moving silently towards the back door. Natasha continues through the front, gun drawn as she slinks into the dimly lit living room. The lamp by the easy chair is turned on, chair reclined, glass of water on the table with no coaster. She wracks her brain, shifting through the afternoon, _had James left his chair out?_

She continued towards the chair, her narrow focus interrupted by the sound of happy shrieks, the screen door slamming shut with a deciding bang. Clint comes barreling out of the kitchen, tackling James to the floor, pressing his face deep into his hair, inhaling as they lay spread eagle on the tile. Natasha just smiles, tension leaving her body instantly, slipping her sneakers off by the dining room table and padding into the kitchen, stepping gracefully over her boys as they writhe and wrestle on the floor, kissing and hugging, mouthfuls of fabric and hair interrupting as they laugh in one another's arms. Clint finally climbs off of James, if only to press her flush to the refrigerator, kissing her deeply, arms wrapping around her waist and tangling into her hair.

“Missed ya Tasha, missed you and James, so much. fuck”

James crowds in behind him, pressing gentle kisses to his neck and throat, warm palm running down her side and onto her hitched up leg.

“I can see that, what with the breaking and entering and borderline assault on us now.”

She giggles out, Clint having abandoned kissing her mouth, moving down to lick at her exposed collarbone, the base of her throat. She hears James laugh from behind Clint, the deep throaty laugh she loves so much.

After some frankly embarrassing groping in the kitchen, the trio moves to their room, shucking various clothing into corners and onto lampshades and accent dressers, falling into their bed with a dignified thump. It takes all of about five seconds for Clint to make his way between Natasha’s legs, broad licks, and fingers, pulling out all his old tricks, Natasha settling back into the pillows, wrapping her powerful thighs around his head, careful not to squeeze too hard. James all but shoves Clint onto his front, thus burying his face in her wet heat with a happy “oh fuck yes!” being echoed from Clint, as James ever so eloquently growls something about fucking him senseless. Natasha moans as Clint works her over, breaking away to kiss up her stomach, sucking a nipple into his mouth as James slowly pushed a second finger into him. She arched up into the sensation, Clint’s moans vibrating her chest, licking at her sternum. James groans when she reaches for him, tangling her hand in his hair and wrangling him up to kiss her, Clint licking a firm stripe up his impressive length. Finally, James slides into Clint, the two of them moaning like it’s the first time, whispered praises falling from James’s lips, Natasha slowly jerking Clint in time with his thrusts. James’s hair is falling from its bun, his metal arm gleaming in the moonlight, braced on Natasha’s creamy hip as he fucks into the man between them, head bowed in concentration, bowed to be as close to them as possible. Natasha gasped as Clint slid into her, both her boys well endowed, the feeling of fullness overwhelming as they moved in tandem, a well-oiled machine. Release comes sooner than she’s expecting, months and weeks of hidden quickies, being interrupted, or too tired to properly fuck piling up, the heat coiling her in abdomen familiar and welcome. James finishes soon after Clint, collapsing on top of them both, careful to roll off of them after a few moments.

Sweaty and blissed out, they lay in a naked heap, until the sticky hot is too much for any of them. James is up first, stalking off to the bathroom to run them a bath, throwing in some bath salts as Natasha and Clint wander in after him.

“Thank you, baby.” She kisses him firmly, pressing against his strong chest, those grey eyes so full of love it hurts her to look away.

“You’re welcome” James replies, climbing in the tub to sink down behind her, Clint joining their little train.

The tub was big enough to accommodate their bulk and then some, Natasha noticed, as they all stretch out, Clint ducking under the water to come up spitting, hair plastered to his head like a soaked cat. They all head to bed, curling together in their too big bed, Natasha waking up twice due to feeling like she was being smothered by the sun, her boys sprawled across her like the worlds warmest starfish, snoring away, happy as clams.

Now though, as she desperately wished, if there was some sort of way to grant wishes, that they were back in the farmhouse, burning up in their stupid bed, James tipping himself and Clint too far back in the easy chair, the old thing creaking ceremoniously before plopping them on the floor. Now, she watched the two men she loved charge into battle, the odds greater than ever. She knew that James would come, fight by her side, fight for their lives, for Clint. She knew she might lose him. It broke her heart, watching his face crumple at the sight of Steve toeing gravel in their driveway, Sam’s arm slung around his waist, frown painted on his carefree face. She knew they wouldn’t have yanked him from retirement, separated them yet again if it wasn't serious. James pressed a kiss to her head, turning right back around to play boggle with Clint, leaving her to the news.

Yet here she was, no more than a week later, her strong, her confident James, being tossed around like a ragdoll. His face was pained, he was tired, she knew he’d fight until the end. She watched Clint, her gentle, unbelievably selfless Clint get consumed by a group of the alien-like dogs. Thor’s axe breaking them off of him, giving him a chance to run. He gave her a mock salute and a grin, a grin of all things, plastered on that handsome face as he chased James into the jungle and after Thanos. They fought for hours, Steve bleeding and battered, sobbing as he held the force of the gauntlet, bearing down on him. Sam, raining down shot after shot, never missing, wings torn and tattered from these ungodly beasts.

Thor was going for Thanos, Natasha was frantically searching for James and Clint, covered in the remains of one of Thanos’s children, covered in dust and blood. She was too late. She watched the men she loved turn to dust reaching out for her as they faded.

“Natalia-” James began, fear crossing his striking features, stepping towards her, her name falling from his lips, grey eyes flicking between her and Clint as he disappeared, gun clattering into the dust.

She screamed, composure leaving her completely as she crawled across the jungle floor, moss soaking her uniform, collapsing into the space he had just taken up. A warm arm embraces her, falling down beside her, Clint sobbing as he holds her.

“Baby, fuck, I see him. He’s- baby he’s calling m-” Clint stammers, tears streaking down his face, pooling in his dimples as a grin spreads across his cheeks, his grip on her lessening, blue eyes gazing beyond her, lips parted as he fades, no fear on him.

Natasha feels her heart stop. She felt the exact moment that her heart snapped in half, her world went gray. For all her training, the torture she endured in the Red Room, her life of fear and pain, nothing can compare to this. She cries, curls into herself, silent sobs cutting off her air, tears pouring into the dust. Steve finds her, gripping handfuls of the dirt, sitting straight, emotionless. He carries her to the waiting quinjet, silently flying himself and their broken team back to headquarters.

She watches the two men she loved- loves, in her dreams. As the remaining team plans battle strategies and plans of attack, she dreams of her lovers, dreams of their bed, dreams of their embrace. She dreams of James’s cry of Natalia as he falls, reaching for him, never meeting. She dreams of Clint, of how he used to stick his sock feet in her face, contorting horribly over couches and chairs. She dreams of his eyes, empty as he fades, smile blank as he stares into the beyond. They find Thanos, the battles rage on. Steve finds Tony, their failure driving them forward. Tony thinks they can reverse the snap, he promises that they’re trying. Natasha dreams of their kitchen, the way her boys glow, painted in the dying light of summer. She dreams of them as she drifts off, it’s always them. She fought, raged wars in their names. She is battle-worn and broken, her last thoughts of her boys, a whisper of their names cross her lips as Steve holds her, sobbing on this blood-filled battleground, their win so close they can taste it. He tries to make her hold on, sobs as he watches those green eyes go dark. They lost their life long ago, he knows. Those green eyes, so full of emotion were empty, there was no fight left for her.

Tony manages to reverse the snap. As their teammates appear, embracing, Steve chews his nails, Tony flicks at the monitors, a frown creasing between his eyebrows. Clint and James are among the recovered, holding one another, catatonic as they search the room for her, their missing piece.

Natasha finds herself back in the farmhouse. It’s that perfect summer heat, the house painted orange and pink, hues settling in across the fields. Their record spins away, she grabs her pink hat and waits for her boys to return to her. She waits on the porch swing, music drifting across the landscape, green eyes scanning the drive, wishing them to walk towards her, to tell her they made it home.

They return to their empty house, a hue of grey settling itself deep into their bones. James warily compares it to life before Oz. They bury her by the willow she planted them four summers ago, the branches flickering shadows across the lawn, soft grass that matches her eyes welcoming their grief, welcoming their embrace as they curl up underneath her tree.

They dream of her. They dream of her laugh, her lips. They dream of her forgiving heart, her smart mouth. James dreams of the girl he loved so long ago, the woman he held only yesterday. He holds Clint as they sleep, curled up on the queen-sized mattress in the guest room. Their bed still smells of her coffee and coconut shampoo, her shirts folded neatly in the top drawer. Clint dreams of her hair, fiery red curls, dancing along the crisp white sheets of Budapest. He dreams of her pink hat, bouncing in the garden as she trimmed her roses, her cheeks pink with joy. He dreams of her as a warrior, they dream of her as she was.

She waits for them, on their sunny porch in the middle of nowhere Idaho. She knows now she must wait for them, for the day that they’ll crunch up the drive, flowers in hand, hiding behind sheepish grins and apologies for making her wait so long. She won’t care, as they dance softly, swaying through their home, the sun finally set for them, dancing along the sprawling hills, moonlight beckoning them home.


End file.
